Then I Saw Her
by r4ven3
Summary: "Harry waited until his bed companion was asleep before he carefully lifted the sheet and stepped out of bed. He stood on the narrow balcony naked, resting his hands on the balustrade, gazing out at the lights of Paris" A story in 4 chapters, definitely AU.
1. Chapter 1

Harry waited until his bed companion was asleep before he carefully lifted the sheet and stepped out of bed. He stood on the narrow balcony naked, resting his hands on the balustrade, gazing out at the lights of Paris …... or more correctly, the lights in this chiefly residential sector of Paris. It was late at night – the early hours of the morning – and even were the street below milling with people, he felt no need for shyness about his aging body. She had loved his body, kissing it all over, or so it had seemed to him. His body was sated, relaxed, like it hadn't been in years, and his heart was singing. He hadn't been this happy since before she'd left. He had a lot of thinking to do. He had decisions to make. The last few hours had changed everything.

* * *

Was it only five months ago that he had met Annabel? It had felt longer that he'd known her. She'd made the first move, of course. They'd been at a conference for security personnel, and he'd only gone along to give himself three days off the Grid. He'd known he needed a holiday, and that this was the closest thing to a holiday he was likely to get this side of his retirement. Annabel had been the security manager at the hotel. She'd begun her working life in the military, and had segued into private security. She was tall – just a little taller than he if she wore heels – 47 years old, blond-haired, smart and street savvy. Harry liked to think she was a female version of himself, but nor did he want to think about that too much.

They had gone to dinner twice before she suggested that, given their age, they had better `get on with things'. In the moment he'd agreed, and had driven them both back to Annabel's town house, Harry hadn't thought too much about the woman he'd watched leave London almost 2 years earlier. He still missed her, he still loved her, but even he knew it was time for him to move on. He _needed_ to move on. Loving a woman he would most likely never see again was bad for his heart, and bad for his body. He needed sex, and he needed it without complications. He needed to fall asleep next to a warm body. Annabel provided that warm body, and the sex was quite good. Any sex with a warm and willing body was quite good. He'd not be prepared to pay for it, but any clean and willing participant was fine with him, and she appeared to enjoy it also, so he was happy.

And then Annabel began dropping hints about spending a few days in Paris, just the two of them, in a small hotel.

"It can be like a honeymoon, Harry," she'd said.

And that is when Harry's inner warning system began to send out alert messages to his conscious mind. Is this what he wanted with this woman? Marriage? Marriage was a big step, a huge step, and he'd never even considered the possibility that he and Annabel might one day marry. Since his first marriage had ended, he had only ever contemplated the prospect of marriage once – to one woman – and she was long gone from his life. Possibly forever.

Since he'd been seeing Annabel, he had learned to compartmentalise his life. He had taken Ruth and his memories of her – precious and delicate – and locked them away in a part of his memory which he could only access when he was alone at night in his own bed. He could not think of her when he was with Annabel. The two parts of his life were totally incompatible, and so he had a need to keep them separate, like two cats which live in the same house, but fight and snarl when in the presence of the other. He could imagine the difficult conversation should he ever call out Ruth's name while he was coming inside Annabel. For that reason, he had had to elicit a degree of self-control whenever he climaxed while having sex with Annabel. It meant that no matter how much he wanted her to be Ruth, and how much he wanted to call out Ruth's name, he had to stay silent.

He needed to talk to someone. The only person who knew about Ruth, and about Annabel was Malcolm. Malcolm talked frequently of retirement, but so far had not taken that step. Harry could see he was tired, as was he. The work they did was hard, and it was relentless, as it was shocking.

"Do you love her?" Malcolm asked, after Harry had carried their drinks back to their table from the bar.

"Who?"

"Annabel. Who else is there?"

At that question, Harry's little locked box deep inside himself opened slightly, and he saw another face swimming in front of him. This face was deeply sad, her large blue eyes showing the sorrow she'd felt on the day she'd left London – and him - for good.

"Your face says it all, Harry. You're still in love with her then?"

"I'll always love her," he said quietly. "When I die, my last thoughts will be of her."

"But you're trying to move on."

"Yes. Annabel wants to spend a few days in Paris."

"But?"

"That only time Ruth and I went out to dinner, we talked of Paris. I implied I'd like to take her with me on a Grand Tour of the cities of Europe."

"Ah." Malcolm sipped his drink, still watching Harry. "Why don't you go anyway? What better way to bury your demons than to face them head on?"

"Do you think so?"

"It's worth a try." Malcolm took another sip of his whiskey before he continued speaking. He noticed how troubled Harry looked. It was time for some things to change. "I have a friend from Cambridge – Antoine Edwards – French mother, English father – and he and his wife run a small family hotel north of the Seine. I stay there whenever I go to Paris. I can't speak for Annabel, but I know you'll like it. It's comfortable, and Antoine and his wife, Emilie are delightful, the perfect hosts. There's a small gallery just around the corner from _Le White Feather_ -"

"Their hotel?"

"Yes. The gallery is called ….. _Artemis Sur La Seine_ …..."

"Artemis on the Seine."

"It's not on the Seine at all. It's a good twenty minute walk from the river, but it sounds good, and it conjures images of woodlands and the river. The gallery has a section on ancient artefacts. I think you might like it."

"I might, Malcolm, although I'm not sure about Annabel. I think she plans to shop `til she drops."

"Then go alone."

"I'd be just one more ancient artefact," Harry quipped, a small smile forming around his mouth. Malcolm noted that this was the first smile he's seen on Harry's face all evening. There was definitely something troubling his friend, and he was about to try to force his hand. To Malcolm's mind, Harry drifting along with a woman he didn't truly care for was doing him more harm than good. A few days in Paris just might tip the scales in one direction or another.

"Just let me know when you plan to go, and I'll book you a room. Antoine and Emilie will organise for you to have the best room."

* * *

Five weeks later they were in Paris, in _Le White Feather._ Antoine and Emilie had been warm and welcoming. Their room was cosy and quaint – Annabel had commented that it was `ridiculously small' – and there was a balcony which overlooked the Seine in the distance. Harry had fallen in love with the hotel on sight, knowing that he'd rather be there with another. On their first night there, Annabel had put her hand across under the sheets, and before she had a chance to touch him, Harry had pushed her hand away. This Paris hotel had not put him in the mood for sex with Annabel. She was the wrong woman.

"What's wrong, Harry? We haven't had sex for almost two weeks, and normally you'd be jumping me by now."

"Perhaps I'm no longer feeling normal," he said quietly into the dark. He was laying on his back, his hands tucked under his head, and he was staring at the ceiling, it's ornate plaster work still visible in the dark.

"What the fuck does _that_ mean?" Annabel exclaimed, shuffling back to her own side of the bed.

"I'm not sure."

"Did you book us dinner at that little restaurant?"

They had gone for a long walk after they booked into the hotel, and on their travels, Harry had mentally noted the address of _Artemis Sur La Seine_, which he intended visiting the next day, whether Annabel accompanied him or not, and they had passed a small restaurant which served provincial French food, something they both enjoyed.

Eventually Annabel turned over, mumbling something about him being `past it', and he stayed staring at the ceiling. It wasn't going to work with Annabel, that was clear. Perhaps Malcolm had encouraged him to take her away for a few days, knowing that any cracks in a relationship become massive crevices when the relationship is put under pressure by being constantly in the presence of the other. He had come to terms with the fact that the only good thing he and Annabel had shared was sex, and he had now even gone off having sex with her. He no longer wanted just sex. He would settle for nothing less than making love with a woman he loved and cherished, which narrowed down the possibilities to just one. Harry eventually fell asleep, his back turned to Annabel, his thoughts rich with images of Ruth.

In the morning, after they'd eaten, Harry allowed Annabel to make reservations for them at the _Bateau sur l'eau_ – Boat On The Water. The roof of the restaurant was shaped like the prow of a boat, but again, it was twenty minutes walk from the Seine, the nearest body of water. He stood under the shower for a long time, and by the time he stepped out of the bathroom and into their room, Annabel had gone shopping.

While under the shower, Harry had decided that their dinner at the boat-shaped restaurant would be the perfect opportunity for him to tell her it was over between them. He had had enough. Deep inside himself, where the Real Harry Pearce lived, he felt like a liar and a fraud, and he also felt like an adulterer, which was ridiculous, given he wasn't married. To continue this fatuous charade with her, calling it a relationship, was hurting them both. She wouldn't be happy. He surmised she'd rather be the one doing the dumping. No-one wants to be the dumpee.

Harry ambled down the lanes near the hotel, happy for some solitude in the city he and Ruth had planned to visit together …... although whether they'd actually planned to visit, or had each had private fantasies about visiting Paris together was a detail which had blurred over time. Why had his love for Ruth not blurred also? He asked himself this question often. He hoped it was because she was The One – the one who was born to be with him, to be his `other half'. He hoped it wasn't because as he'd aged, his memories of her had morphed into something larger than life, something barely resembling a reality.

He had lunch at a streetside café, spending upwards of an hour watching people, while he sipped cup after cup of coffee. If only …... If only he and Annabel had had more in common, she would be sitting there with him. No, that wasn't what he wished for at all, although were it so, it may solve at least two of his problems. Knowing that the gallery closed at 4.30, he paid his bill, and retraced his steps back to _Le White Feather._ _Artemis Sur La Seine _was two narrow streets closer to the Seine than the hotel. Inside the gallery, he entered another world altogether. The air was quite cold, due to the air conditioning maintaining a constant temperature of 18ºC, to protect the artefacts. It was also darker than the streets outside, and it took his eyes some minutes to fully adjust.

He wandered through the different sections – Egyptian, Middle Eastern, British, Scandinavian, North American, and then to the French section. He hadn't taken much in, because he had a sense that he was heading somewhere important. When he reached a cabinet which displayed some coins and other artefacts of the Knights Templar, he stepped close to the cabinet in order to get a better view of what was on display. The first thing he noticed was a note added to the description for the display. The note was written on heavy white card, in thick felt pen, in freehand, in French, and the writing looked so familiar, as though he had written it himself. He felt his skin flush, and his breathing become shallow and strained. He knew he wasn't having a heart attack. He'd received a shock. He _knew_ that writing.

Harry turned suddenly, thinking he'd heard someone behind him. He left the display cabinet, and followed the source of the sound, down a dark corridor, at the head of which he'd read the sign in French which told him he was in an area for staff only – but he was undeterred. He walked quickly along the corridor, coming at last to a large set of double doors. He pushed open the doors, and found himself in a darkened alleyway which ran beside the gallery building. He stepped on to the paved lane, and looked in each direction – ahead of him, to his left, and then to his right. There, bustling along the lane, her head down, her arms carrying a pile of books, was a small, dark-haired woman, her hair curling softly against her neck.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry knew it was she. Malcolm had known something, and had directed him to stay in that hotel, and to visit this particular gallery. He hurried after her, too afraid to call out, too afraid to contemplate the possibility that it was not her.

It was when he broke into a run that she stopped and turned around. Seeing her stop, he slowed down, stopping 3 or 4 yards from her.

"Ruth," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

She began shaking her head, slowly at first, and then more vigorously. He stepped closer to her, taking care to move slowly, so as to not frighten her. He was within touching distance when he noticed the tears in her eyes. He reached one hand towards her, and she reached out to him with her free hand. When the four or five books fell from her other arm, Harry acted from his heart, and not his head.

He stepped up to her and took her in his arms. She did not resist. She melted against his body, and her warmth restarted his aching heart. He bent to pick up the books, and she said, `leave them', so he reached out with his foot, and herded the fallen books closer to where they stood, wrapped in one another's arms. It had been 2 years and 3 months since he had last been this close to her.

Harry's arms enveloped her. He held her close to his chest, while she snaked her hands around his waist, and then rubbed them up and down his back. It felt so wonderful to be holding Ruth at last, to feel her hands on his back, just one layer of shirt material from his skin. He had no intention of ever letting her go.

"Harry," she mumbled against his chest, "I need to blow my nose."

"Sorry," he said, relaxing his grip on her, allowing her to take a tissue from the pocket in her skirt, with which she wiped her eyes, and then blew her nose.

"Don't ever be sorry for being here," she said at last. "I've dreamed about this moment. I never thought it would happen." She shook her head a little, and looked at her feet. "I'm finding it hard to believe that it has."

They allowed their arms to drop from around one another, but Harry ran the fingers of one hand through her hair, over and over, in a caress. At last, he stood with his hand cupping her jaw, and looked at her, while Ruth settled her hands on his waist. Neither wanted to move.

"Why did you run from me?" he asked at last. "You saw me in the gallery, didn't you?"

She nodded. "I got …... scared. I was afraid to see you. I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me."

"Why, Ruth? I've been consumed every day for 2 years and 3 months by a need to see you, to …... to do this …..."

Harry leaned towards her to kiss her, but she suddenly pulled out of his reach. "Harry, I saw you. I saw you with a woman. I often have my lunch in the Provincial Café, across the road from The White Feather. I was there yesterday when you arrived …... with a woman. A very attractive woman. I watched you get out of the taxi, and go inside."

Harry sighed heavily. "Is there somewhere we can go to eat, or just have coffee? Somewhere not too close to _Le White Feather_. We need to talk. Things are not as they seem."

Ruth looked sceptical, but after Harry picked up her books, and carried them for her, she led him to a patisserie in another lane nearby. "The food is terribly fattening, but they serve wonderful coffee," Ruth explained.

Harry chose a table near the window, so that they could look out on the lane if things got awkward between them. They didn't talk until their coffees and a plate of pastries were delivered to their table.

Harry told her how he'd met Annabel. He left nothing out, including the real reason he'd begun dating her.

"I'm a man, I needed sex, and she was willing," he said bluntly.

"Is it serious?" Ruth asked.

"God, no," he said. "I've been too preoccupied, too wrapped up in regret and thoughts of you, too gutless to let her know that I think we should stop seeing one another. We're meant to be going to dinner tonight, and I was planning to tell her then."

"Tell her what?"

"That it's over. That we need to part our ways and not see each other again. We're incompatible. All we have in common is sex, and even that is no longer attractive to me."

"Do you mean sex in general, or sex with her?"

"I don't mean sex in general, Ruth," he replied, a small smile on his lips, a smile that said he recognised her investment in his answer. "I am still interested in sex …... _very_ interested …... just not with any available warm body. At first, I thought it would be enough, but it's not. I've come to the conclusion that sex should have meaning. I'm only interested in making love, not just having sex. I now have an enduring need to make love …... with someone I love deeply."

Harry looked across the table at her, and her beautiful blue eyes were shining, but still with a shimmer of tears on their surface.

"Ruth," he said, reaching out to put his hand over hers, "are you alright?"

"I think I am now."

They sipped their coffees in silence, occasionally glancing up to look at the other.

"Are you with anyone?" Harry asked after a while.

Ruth shook her head. "There was someone a bit over a year ago, but it didn't work out. He was younger than me. I prefer older men."

Harry didn't want the afternoon to end, but he was aware that it was after 5.30, and he needed to contact Annabel, to cancel their dinner booking.

"Ruth …... I have to ring Annabel. We're meant to be going to dinner tonight, but I don't want to leave you. Now we've found one another again …..."

"Ring her. You can go outside and do it there …... if you need privacy."

"Thank you."

He stood, and leaned across the table to kiss Ruth's cheek. At the last minute, she turned her head, and his mouth met hers. She was sweet-tasting, and her lips were soft. He didn't want to stop kissing her, but the stirring in his trousers told him that he'd better. He took his phone outside and made his call.

Ruth watched him through the window. She couldn't believe that they were here in Paris - together – politely sharing afternoon tea. The Ruth she'd been before she left London would have been upset that Harry had been sleeping with someone else, and that he'd had a relationship with her for some months. The Ruth she was now could detect Harry's true feelings, and it was clear to her that he was open to being with her, and that Annabel was already history. And who could expect a man like Harry to behave like a monk?

Harry suddenly became animated over the phone, and he paced backwards and forwards in the laneway. His face looked angry, irritated, and eventually, his face showed resignation, and then he hung up. His eyes met hers through the window, and he shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"She's already on the Eurostar on her way back to London," he said when he settled in the chair opposite Ruth. "She also cancelled the dinner booking, surmising I wouldn't turn up. That last bit is probably true. I am now totally unencumbered, Ruth."

"Does that include emotionally?"

"I haven't ever been emotionally involved with her …... not while I've still been emotionally involved with you." He gazed at her, finding it hard to believe that maybe, just maybe his dreams were coming true. "Do you live far from here, Ruth? Is there somewhere I can take you to dinner?"

"I have a better idea. Why don't I cook you dinner? At my place."

"Ruth, you don't have to do that. I'd like to take you somewhere nice."

"And I will enjoy cooking dinner for you. Besides, the dining table is only a few paces from my bedroom."

Harry's face registered shock, and he felt his face flush, and again his trousers began to feel tight, as his mind created images of the two of them naked under the sheets. "Do you mean that, Ruth?"

"I've never been more serious in my life. I now know that turning down your second dinner invitation was one of the worst decisions I ever made. Had I not, who knows where we'd be by now?"

Harry contemplated the possibilities, and hoped that Ruth's fantasies ran parallel with his own.

They left the patisserie, walking close to one another, their shoulders touching. Harry carried her books for her. He felt like a twelve-year-old, carrying books home for the prettiest girl in his class. Ruth lived in a flat on the third floor of a building similar to the one that housed _Le White Feather_. A wide staircase spiralled from the ground floor up to the fifth, and doorways led off each landing into the flats, four or six on each floor, depending on the size of the flats. Ruth's flat was through a heavy door, which led into a large living room, which contained a lounge setting, a low coffee table, a dining table and four chairs, a television, and built-in bookshelves lining two whole walls. On the floor were rugs, which softened the edges formed by the walls and the furniture. A compact kitchen led off one side of the living room, and through a large set of glass-panelled double doors to his left, Harry could see into Ruth's bedroom, and next to it, the open door to the bathroom.

"It's bigger than I expected," he said, looking around him.

"It's deceptive. All the flats are like this. Large rooms with high ceilings. This house dates back to the 17th century. It's rumoured that King Louis XVIII procured it for use as a place to house his paramours, male as well as female, although it's rumoured he preferred men."

"Can I go out and get us some wine while you prepare dinner?"

"That would be lovely. There's a wine merchant just around the corner, and don't worry about your French. The owner is Californian."

"_Mon francais est plut__ô__t bien, merci, ma ch__é__rie._"*

"I'm glad to hear it. You go downstairs, turn left when you hit the street, and turn left again at the first intersection."

"Red or white?" he asked, as he turned towards the door.

"I'm making a Flemish Beef Stew, so one of each, I'd say."

Harry came back twenty minutes later with two bottles of white and three of red, and two of white shiraz – a light red.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Harry Pearce?" Ruth asked playfully, as he placed the box of bottles on the kitchen bench.

He smiled at her, then lifted his fingers to touch her cheek. Very gently, he stroked her skin with the backs of his fingers, a shudder coursing through his body at the touch. He moved to stand close beside her, and she lifted her eyes to look at him through her eyelashes, before she again cast her attention to the pot of stew she was stirring on the stove in front of her. His body was about to catch alight. He could step away from her, or he could continue this …... and he wanted _so badly _to continue.

In moments such as these the direction of people's lives could turn. Harry took a deep breath, and cupped her cheek in his palm, very gently turning her to face him.

Harry breathed out, and leaned across to kiss her on the lips. He hadn't thought much about what he was doing, but the timing felt right …... everything about the moment felt right. Ruth turned towards him, and carefully placing the wooden spoon on the bench, she reached across to him, and took his face in her hands. She gently rubbed her thumbs over his cheekbones as she looked into his eyes. By the time she stood pressed against him, his hands were on her waist, holding her to him. She felt wonderful. Her mouth was soft, and she opened her lips beneath his, and they explored the mouth of the other. Harry felt how soft her breasts were against his chest, and he wanted to take her to bed right then.

Ruth felt her body being drawn into his, becoming part of him. She had never before kissed Harry in this way. Their kiss goodbye over two years earlier had been all too brief, and beneath it had been the pain of their imminent separation. She pressed her body against him, feeling his arousal growing against her stomach, as his hands reached around to her buttocks, and pulled her hard against him. Ruth let her hands drop to his hips, and she held them there, slowly sliding her own hips back and forth sideways against him, so that his now very hard penis rubbed across the width of her abdomen. Her pelvic region was full with anticipation of what was about to happen …... and it _would_ happen this time. It was not too soon for them. They had waited for one another for over two years, and their foreplay had begun as soon as they'd sat down for coffee in the pâtisserie. Ruth knew what she wanted, and she wanted it now …... at this moment, before they ate, before they had anything to drink.

"Harry," she said, as he lifted his mouth from hers, his breathing shallow and fast.

"I know." He dropped his head on to her shoulder, and she felt his breath hot against her neck. He moved his mouth just a little way towards her, and began sucking very gently on her neck.

"Harry," she said, this time more urgently.

She reached down and lightly touched him through his trousers. He shuddered slightly, so she grasped him tightly with her hand, and began to massage him along his length. He groaned into her neck, and then pulled away from her, grasping her hand away from his erection. Her other hand was busily opening his belt, and the buttons and zip on his trousers. She wanted him so, so badly.

"I think we need to -" he said, his voice raspy with desire.

"Bedroom, yes," she finished the sentence for him.

Ruth reached around behind her, and turned off the two gas burners on the stove. The very last thing they needed was a fire in the kitchen, as well as the one which was about to ignite in the bedroom.

* * *

*_My French is rather good, thank you, darling._


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Thanks to all have left reviews for this story so far. This is the penultimate chapter._**

* * *

They staggered through the double doors to Ruth's bedroom, kissing one another, hands wandering over the body of the other, although Harry had to remove his shoes and socks, and kick off his trousers in the doorway, or else risk tripping over.

They fell on top of the bed, and Ruth wasted no time in removing Harry's trunks. Once she'd thrown his underwear on to the floor, she reached down and kissed his erection from tip to shaft, and then back to the tip, where she delicately ran her tongue over him.

"Christ, Ruth," Harry said, his head on the pillow, his eyes closed. "You'll have to stop that if you want to -"

"Feel it inside me?"

"Yes," he breathed, "that's what I meant."

Ruth sat up then, and so that Harry could watch her (because he was barely capable of anything else at this juncture), she took off her blouse, and then her skirt, she removed her bra, and leaned closer to him so that his hands could touch her breasts, and then she sat up and wriggled up to kneel beside him.

"Would you like to take these off me?" she said, pulling at the elastic of her knickers.

Harry didn't need asking a second time. He turned towards her, hooked his thumbs over the waistband of her knickers, and pulled them down, over her hips, and then down her legs and off her body. He flung them on to the floor, and then turned his body, so that they were lying side by side, very close to one another.

"Take off your shirt, Harry," Ruth whispered against his mouth.

He could barely keep up with her, this woman who desired him as much as he desired her. She opened the buttons of his shirt, and pushed it from his shoulders, while he wriggled out of it, leaving them both naked on the bed, facing one another. He wanted to be inside her more than he wanted to take another breath, or to eat that beautiful meal she'd been preparing when his desire for her had overwhelmed him. His fingers ran from the underside of her breasts, down her abdomen, to her thighs, and then back along her inside thigh, until one of his hands found her warm centre, and he buried his fingers inside her, while his thumb found her clitoris. Her response was instant. She arched her body against him, while she climaxed powerfully, grasping his shoulders with her fingers to anchor herself. Her fingers dug into his skin, and her nails scraped his shoulders, drawing blood which neither could see, so wrapped up were they in each other. As her body settled, she opened her eyes, and gazed at him, her eyes filled with love and wonder. He was watching her, his face open, his eyes soft, a slight smile on his lips.

This man was Harry, and he was incredible. He loved her, and she loved him. There was no longer any force on this earth powerful enough to again rip them apart. They'd already suffered through a long separation, and yet here they were. Only the most powerful forces of Fate could have guided each of them to be together that day in the same city, in the same district of that city, in the same gallery, and at the same time of day.

Ruth reached across to him and drew his face to her. She met his mouth with hers, their lips touching gently, and then pulling away to gaze again at the other.

"Harry, I need you," she whispered against his mouth.

Ruth reached down between them, and took his erection in her hand. With one leg hooked over his hip, she guided him between her legs, and into her own body, and pushed herself against him until he was inside her. They each gasped at the moment their bodies joined. She felt his arms go around her, while he breathed carefully, shallowly, as they adjusted themselves until they were comfortable. He was inside her at last, and he felt so right. His once turbulent world had just righted itself. They lay still, he inside her, she enveloping him in her warmth, while they each watched the other. This was one moment they would always remember – whatever happened after this, they will have this moment on which to look back.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began to move his hips, so that he pushed himself into her, and then out slightly, before he pushed back, deeper this time. They took up his rhythm together, so that, like a slow dance on a crowded dance floor, where dancers can only shuffle from side to side, with little room for fancy dance steps, they moved slowly and with subtleties only they could detect …... his knee under her buttock, his buttocks clenching and unclenching under her hands, his eyes closing for a moment while he adjusted his rhythm to fit hers. It was a slow dance, but one with an inner harmony, a melody they could both hear. It was beautiful, and Ruth could feel the tears building, the first of them running down her cheeks. She looked into his eyes, and he saw the tears there.

His face held a question, but she smiled at him through her tears, conveying to him that she was happy, and no longer sad and hurt by life. This was right. _They_ would be alright.

As though reading one another's thoughts, they each increased the speed of their movements, so that he thrust deeper inside her, while she arched her neck, exposing her throat for him to graze with his lips and teeth. It was while he licked and sucked on the skin of her throat that he began to feel the tension building within him, the prelude to release. Harry sped up his movements, and in less than a minute he spilled inside her, his breath coming in a long and low groan. `_Ruth_', was all he said, as he plunged into her, seeking her core, enjoying the freedom of saying her name aloud as he came. Seeing her still on the other side, he pulled away from her slightly, and massaged her clitoris with his thumb. He watched her face as she arched away from him, her eyes closed, her mouth open in an unspoken `O'. As her climax tapered off, she sighed heavily, and rested her head on his shoulder.

Harry put his arms around her and pulled her to him, and they both dozed under the duvet.

* * *

Their meal was a quiet one, the earlier tension between them having been broken. They ate and drank with enjoyment, but they spoke mostly with their eyes.

"I have a bathtub which is too big for one. Would you like to join me?"

Harry smiled his assent, taking a chilled bottle of white shiraz and two glasses into the bathroom, setting them up on the edge of the tub next to the wall. Ruth had already stepped into the water, almost too hot for her to sit in. He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her, giving her a quick kiss on her mouth a moment before he handed her the glass. She watched him over the rim of her glass while he removed his clothes, and draped them over the back of a chair.

"Mmm," she said appreciatively, as he removed his underwear.

"Move forward a bit," he said, as he stepped in the tub behind her, and settled himself so that his back was against the end of the tub, and Ruth sat between his legs.

Ruth allowed herself to lean back against Harry's chest, and he squeezed bath gel into his palm, and washed her back, then her neck and shoulders, her breasts – over which he took an inordinate amount of time - her stomach, then between her legs. He moved on to her legs before she had a chance to climax. She knew he was teasing her, and that he had other ideas, ideas he was saving for later.

They settled into bed together, Harry draped around her back, his arms holding her. Harry had not even considered for a moment going back to _Le White Feather_ to sleep. While Ruth was at work the next day, he would go back to the hotel, collect his things, and settle the bill. He thought she was asleep, when he felt her press her buttocks back against his groin. He had been half-erect since he had nestled in bed behind her, and slid his arms around her. She moved against him so that he swelled with the touch of her soft bottom, the stimulation of her skin against his. He knew she would be able to hear his breathing as it caught in his throat each time he tried to quieten himself. He drew her around so that she lay on her back, and he lifted himself above her, lying between her legs, and entering her quickly, and sinking into her deeply. They made love slowly, over a long period of time. They had experienced their first coupling as being more urgent and spontaneous, and now they were free to take their time. Harry only began to increase the pace once his back started to ache. Had it not been for that, he could have lasted all night.

After it was over, he again lay behind her while she drifted off to sleep. Harry was exhausted – it had been an emotional day, a day full of surprises – but he knew he'd not fall asleep easily, so busy was his mind.

Which is when he left the bed, and opened the french windows on to the narrow balcony, so that he stood against the balustrade naked. It was well after midnight, and he had a problem to solve. His choices lay in how to ensure that he and Ruth remained together, without risking her safety. They were not without options, but would it be better to firstly clear Ruth's name so that she could return to London, or disappear together to some warm climate a long way from Europe? He definitely needed her input on this. His life may not have to change very much, but Ruth may have to again be uprooted from her life in order to accommodate a life spent together.

And what if this is a one-off, and Ruth doesn't wish to spend her life with him? Harry momentarily thought of waking her to ask her to settle his concerns. He was in no doubt about his feelings for her, nor what he intended for them. While he still had breath in his body, he would do everything possible for he and Ruth to be able to live together in safety. If that meant that he had to retire, or fake his death, or the two of them needed to disappear to a destination unknown, then he was prepared for it. For the first time in his sorry life he was genuinely in love with a woman for whom he would move mountains. She was everything to him. _Everything_.

He began to feel the night air cold on his body, and he shivered. He quietly stepped back into the bedroom, turning the large key in the lock after he'd closed the doors to the balcony. He lifted the duvet and slid back into bed beside Ruth.

"You okay?" she asked sleepily, turning her head to look at him.

"I'm sorry I woke you. I needed to think."

Ruth turned her whole body to face Harry, her brow puckering in concern. "You're not having second thoughts …... about us?"

He reached across and kissed her mouth lightly, smiling at her. "Just the opposite. I'm trying to find a way for us to be together. For good …... if that's what you want."

Ruth lifted her body until her head and shoulders rested against the bedhead. Harry was temporarily distracted by the vision of Ruth's breasts, startlingly pale against the light blue sheet. He took a deep breath, and lifted his eyes to hers. She watched his face carefully, as though assessing him. Did he mean what he'd just said? Was he perhaps playing with her?

"Is it what you want, Ruth?" Harry asked anxiously.

"I had no idea you felt so strongly about us, Harry," she said at last.

"I do," he said quietly, aware that those two words represented a commitment to more than just them finding a way to meet without having to be secretive about it. "I could continue to visit you here whenever I can get time off work, but that will only be satisfactory for a short time. I want to be with you, Ruth. For as long as we live."

Ruth opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again. He was serious about her. "That sounded for all the world like a marriage proposal."

"I want more than that, Ruth. I want a life with you where we're no longer in danger of being torn apart. Is that what you want, too?"

Ruth nodded slowly, and accepted his kiss when he again leaned in to cover her lips with his own.

"Good," he said, his face so close to hers that she could count his freckles, and see the tiny scars on his chin. "Then leave it with me. If you want the same thing I want, then let me sort it out. Do you trust me, Ruth?"

"Of course I do. You're here in my bed, so of course I trust you. Implicitly."

"Do you care where we live?"

"Not especially. I like living here, but I'd prefer living in England."

He nodded, smiling. "Good. I only have two more nights to spend here before I have to be back in London. I'm sure Malcolm will help me to arrange something to suit us. Now …... we need to sleep."

Harry slid down in the bed, taking Ruth with him. She curved her body into his, her head under his chin, and her arms around his waist. He rested his head on hers, and closed his eyes.

They would sort this out. Somehow. He had had enough of personal sacrifice – self control and self denial had done nothing for him, nor for her. It was time he became greedy for what he'd denied himself for his entire adult life. The nation would have to muddle its way along without him.

By the time Harry and Ruth said a long and tearful farewell two-and-a-half days later, their plan for their future life together had been hatched.


	4. Chapter 4

__**_A/N: Thanks to all who have followed this story._**

* * *

_A farmhouse 5 miles east of Somerton, Somerset, UK …... 15 months later – 10.17 pm:_

Harry was waiting up for their visitor to arrive, a small glass of single malt whiskey on the table in front of him. He drank far less these days than he had when he'd been with the security services, but he still enjoyed a small glass before retiring for the night.

For some reason, their visitor was unable to arrive earlier, and Ruth had turned in just after 9.30 pm. She'd been tired after cleaning the spare bedroom and the bathroom, and changing the sheets – with Harry's help, of course. And she'd been up early, and had been busy all day. Harry thought she'd earned an early night.

After Harry had reluctantly left Ruth in Paris fifteen months earlier, he had begun to put in motion their exit plan. His first step was to announce his retirement, which was to be effective from his fifty-fifth birthday, three and a half months after he'd returned from Paris. He then organised the sale of his house, and announced that for the foreseeable future he would be travelling, and no longer needed a house in London. His children had been surprised, but soon accepted that as usual, Harry would be someone they would see only occasionally. He travelled firstly to Paris, spending a week with Ruth – which was only the third time he'd seen her since leaving her after he'd been in Paris with Annabel – and then on to Italy, where he bought a run-down property in his own name.

He then implemented the part of the plan for which he'd needed Malcolm's assistance. Using his passport in the name of James Harold Morley, he travelled back to Paris, and helped Ruth pack her belongings, so that she could travel back to the UK with him as his wife, Ruth Ann Morley. They maintained the lease on her flat until this day, but it would not be long before they'd have to let it go. The time for romantic weekends in Paris as Mr and Mrs James Morley was about to come to an end for now. Once on UK soil, they moved straight to Somerton, where Harry had already sourced a farmhouse a few miles east of the town.

The farm itself had been bought by neighbouring farmers, but the house remained on its five acres of land, with a heritage listed barn at the eastern edge of the property, hidden from the house by a grove of mature oak trees. Ruth had loved the house on sight, set on a hillside, with a view over the patchwork countryside for miles to the south. Once they'd moved into their new home, she had not wanted to leave, even to do the shopping. Ruth's two and a half years spent in isolation had led her to enjoying having her own space to herself, although she'd told Harry countless times that she'd be lost without him. They were extremely happy, and only occasionally missed what they referred to as their `former life'. But things were about to change.

Harry heard the car pull up outside, and he went to the front door of his house, and opened it before his visitor had a chance to ring the doorbell and risk waking Ruth.

"Malcolm," Harry said, reaching out to shake his friend's hand. "It's been such a long time."

"Too long," agreed Malcolm, as Harry led him inside.

When he'd pulled up in front of the house, Malcolm had sat for a while and looked up at the facade of the house. It was a typical southern England farmhouse built from stone, rectangular, imposing, severe and strong, but with warmth creeping out into the darkened driveway through the lights in the windows.

"It's a lovely house, Harry," Malcolm commented, as he stepped past Harry into a slate-paved entrance hall.

"It's so much better inside. Come on in."

Harry led Malcolm into a large and light open plan area consisting of a vast sitting room, dining area, and a large and airy kitchen. A set of stairs led off this area and up to the next floor. Malcolm looked around, but couldn't see Ruth.  
"Ruth is already in bed," Harry said. "She's almost always asleep by 10, and she had a busy day today, so she was extra tired."

"I suppose she's making up for all those long days and short nights she had while she was working for the service."

"That's one reason," Harry said obliquely, as he showed Malcolm to the table, and poured him a small whiskey. They talked for a little while, and then Malcolm suggested he was ready for bed. Harry led him upstairs to his bedroom, the next but one from the main bedroom where he and Ruth slept.

"The bathroom is at the end of this corridor. Ruth and I have our own en suite so you have the bathroom to yourself."

The men said a polite goodnight, and Harry went back downstairs to turn off the lights, before he retired to bed.

* * *

As he did every morning, Harry got out of bed before sunrise and lit the combustion stove in the living area. When more wood was needed for burning, he'd go out the back to the small woodshed and bring in an armful. On this morning, there was a decent store of wood in the basket beside the stove, so he climbed the stairs, closed the bedroom door behind him, and removed his clothes before he climbed back into bed naked.

Then he did what he did almost every morning. He shuffled across the mattress to entwine his feet and legs with Ruth's. As usual, she was wearing flannelette pyjama pants with a camisole on the top half of her body. It was when he heard her complain about his feet being cold that he'd stealthily begin pulling Ruth's pyjama pants over her hips, and off her body. This was what she expected, although every morning she'd complain.

"You've no idea how cold your hands are, Harry," she mumbled against her pillow, as she tried burying her face into it. She also tried to ignore Harry's skilled fingers weaving their magic between her legs.

His reply was always to press himself against her, so that his semi-erection nestled against her buttocks, often right in the cleft of her buttocks, and his stomach and chest curved around her. He'd then push himself against her, sometimes rubbing himself sideways against her bottom, or sliding himself between her legs. He'd then reach around her, and slip his fingers under her camisole so that he could caress her belly, and then up to her breasts, where his fingertips feathered lightly over her nipples.

What happened next was her call. She could pull away from him and say, `not right now, Harry' – which happened only occasionally, but it did happen – or she could lift her buttocks to him, indicating she wished him to enter her from behind. On this morning she turned around, and lay on her back, while he reached across to kiss her – deeply and thoroughly. The kiss then led to her hands wandering down his chest, to his belly, and thence to his genitals, and she'd fondle him until he became fully erect, and ready to enter her. He raised himself above her, and then settled himself over her, his erect penis resting deliciously against her wetness, ready to be inside her, but waiting for her to beg. Harry knew it was cruel, but when Ruth wanted him really badly, the sex was amazing, and so they both benefited.

"We have to be quiet this morning," he said, his mouth against hers. "Malcolm is only two rooms away …... and he might be listening."

"I can be quiet," she said, smiling at him, "but I bet you can't."

With that, Harry slid into her, and Ruth gasped as he pushed himself all the way inside her. He adjusted his angle, and lifted himself on to his hands before he began moving. Ruth's hands grasped his sides, and she looked up at him with adoring eyes. As they made love on this early October morning, they each thought how lucky they were. They'd lived together in this house for ten months, safe from those who would wish them harm, and they were still deeply in love with one another. And things were about to get better for them.

Harry could feel his own climax building, and by her breathing, Ruth seemed close also. He sped up, coming at last in a series of deep thrusts. He managed to staunch his cries, but his breathing was heavy and laboured. He rested inside her, and leaned down, and lifting her camisole, he took one of her breasts in his mouth, licking the nipple until he felt her body contract around him. As she came, Ruth ground her face into his shoulder, and bit him hard.

When the waves of passion had exhausted them, Harry collapsed beside her.

"Christ, Ruth," he said after a while, "I think you drew blood."

Ruth turned to look at him, and saw the bite mark on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said. "I think I did. It was either that, or call out your name rather loudly."

"I though you said you could be quiet."

"If you were not so damned good in the bedroom, I wouldn't have cause to cry out."

"So now it's my fault?"

"It's your fault your wife loves you so much, and can't help but cry out during orgasm. I'd call that a skill, Harry. I'm not sure many men can claim that. What I want to know is how it was you were single all those years."

"I was waiting for you," he said quietly.

They turned towards one another then, and after a series of gentle kisses, they held one another until Ruth again fell asleep.

By the time Malcolm came downstairs, Harry had made a stack of pancakes, and a large pot of tea.

"Ruth still asleep?" Malcolm asked, not seeing her anywhere.

"She likes a lie-in these days," Harry said.

"She's alright, isn't she, Harry?"

"Yes, of course. Ruth is fine. While she's dragging herself out of the land of dreams, I thought I might show you the barn. Ruth and I own it, but it's on a separate title, so if you're interested …..."

After breakfast the two men walked over a small rise, and between the oak trees, until they came to the barn. It had a similar view to that from the farmhouse, and even though it was at least two stories tall, as barns go, it was small.

"It's 18th century, so it's Grade II Heritage listed," Harry said, as he unlocked the door to allow them inside, "so that would affect the upgrading. It's already been partially upgraded – as you can see – but the last owners had to stop when they ran out of money. That was how Ruth and I got the house and barn so cheaply."

"The Global Financial Crisis," Malcolm murmured, "disastrous for some, but fortuitous for others."

"Ruth and I have been very fortunate since we've been back in the UK."

"You deserve every piece of good luck which comes your way, Harry. I'd need to get an architect in."

"The architect who worked on the last upgrade lives and works in Glastonbury, so I can put you in touch with him. He had his own ideas for the upgrade, but they were a bit beyond the means of the former owners."

"And you wouldn't be worried about me living so close to you and Ruth?"

"Of course not. It would be a pleasure to have you living so close by. Besides, the trees provide a visual barrier between the two properties."

"If I do go ahead with it, it will take at least a year, and by that time, Mother should be settled, and I'll be freer to do what I like."

"Take your time, Malcolm."

"I can't believe I'm considering a barn conversion," Malcolm said with a smile.

"We've both of us turned unexpected corners in our lives," Harry mused.

The two men wandered around inside, and then outside the barn, and Malcolm took photographs with the small digital camera he had in the pocket of his woollen coat. Harry then locked the barn, and slowly they walked back to the house.

As Harry and Malcolm approached the back door of the farmhouse, they could see Ruth's head through the window. Harry stood back while he allowed Malcolm to enter the kitchen ahead of him. Ruth heard them enter the room, and turned from the bench, where she was making a pot of tea. As she turned, and Malcolm was able to see her whole body, he stopped in his tracks, a flush forming in his cheeks.

"So that's why you've been sleeping so much," he said, smiling at her. "I was afraid you had cancer, or something, and Harry was having difficulty facing up to it."

"Believe me," she smiled, "in around three and a half months, Harry will be facing up to this in a way he won't be able to ignore. Broken sleep, colic, nappy rash ..."

"And that's just me," Harry quipped. "The baby will no doubt be much more disruptive."

The three of them broke into smiles, as Malcolm – very uncharacteristically – approached Ruth, and gave her a careful hug.

"You won't break me, Malcolm," said Ruth, pulling his face closer so that she could plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

"I'm not used to pregnant women," Malcolm said, his embarrassment clear. "I'm not sure of the protocol."

"Just treat me as you'd normally treat me. I'm just a little out of shape …... but only temporarily."

Malcolm looked around at Harry, and noticed that his friend was gazing at Ruth adoringly, and a quick look back at her saw that his look was being returned. Malcolm momentarily envied them. Other than the baby. He had never wanted to replicate himself. He'd not ever possessed the urge to inflict the awkwardness of being human on to another.

They sat around the small table in the kitchen area and drank tea.

"I hadn't known you'd wanted children," Malcolm said, not sure if it was even his business.

"Neither had we," Harry said, "until we found out we were to be parents. Then it was …..." Harry looked across at Ruth.

"Amazing. A miracle. Neither of us are in the first flush of youth, and so we hadn't expected this."

"I hear that nowadays you can discover the child's gender in advance."

"We're having a boy," Ruth said with a smile. "I can't wait. I want him to be just like his dad …... but without the attitude."

"_Ru-uth_! What's wrong with my attitude? I think I'm rather …... malleable. Wouldn't you say?"

"Sometimes, yes, but you can be so damned stubborn …... and when you allow your anger to surface, you become a force of nature. If our little boy were like that, what chance will I have?"

The three of them laughed a little, and then a little more, as Harry defended his personality, at the same time further demonstrating his stubborn streak.

"I have some good news," Malcolm said at last. "I wanted to give you this news personally."

"You haven't met someone, have you, Malcolm?" Ruth said.

"No. Much better than that. Oliver Mace has been found dead."

"How? Where?" Harry asked, his mood sobering instantly.

"He was fished out of the River Danube just north of Belgrade. He'd been shot through the head."

"Serbia. What was he doing there?" Ruth asked.

"All his nasty cronies were there. They were people who support torture. Three more bodies were found within a week of Mace floating to the surface. They were all associates of Mace... members of the Serbian mafia. Nasty people."

"So we're free now." Ruth looked across the table at Harry. "We can even get married properly if we want."

"Do you think we need to, Ruth? After all, the official records state that we're already married …... and I'm not going anywhere. I'm committed to you for life." As Harry spoke, Malcolm noticed him turning his wedding ring with the fingers of his right hand.

There was a moment during which Malcolm felt like he was an intruder into a private moment between them, but the conversation soon shifted to how they should celebrate Mace's demise.

"A bonfire seems apt," suggested Ruth.

"Failing that," Harry added, "we should have a really good meal, with wine and the works, and celebrate the fact that we are all still here."

So they did.

The two men drank red wine to accompany the meal of Flemish Beef Stew, which Harry cooked, since Ruth had taught him how to make it after that first meal they'd shared in her flat in Paris. Ruth drank non-alcoholic wine, and they all laughed when Harry told them of some of his meetings with Mace, and he aped Oliver's manner and his speech.

"I can sell the property just outside Florence," Harry mused, after things had quietened down, and they were eating a dessert of chocolate cake – one of Ruth's food cravings. She had several …... sardines and anchovies being two more, both of which she ate on toast - together.

"I'd almost forgotten about that," Malcolm replied.

"I no longer need it, and the rates and taxes are a bit much, what with everything else. I no longer have to give the impression that I'm living in Italy."

"You can reclaim your own names if you want," Malcolm suggested.

Harry and Ruth again looked at one another, and then Harry spoke.

"Ruth and I have talked about this, and we've agreed that were our old names ever available, we'd not take them. We're happy being the Morley's, and there are still people other than Oliver Mace who would wish ill of me, and by extension, would wish my wife and child harm also. Ruth and I need to thank you, Malcolm, for all you've done for us. Had you not …... suggested I visit Paris, and stay in _Le White Feather_, and then visit the gallery where Ruth was working …... I'd hate to think how things might have turned out."

"But you wouldn't have stayed with Annabel, Harry," Ruth suggested.

"Of course not."

"We would have found one another somehow. I'm sure of it."

Forgetting for a moment they had company, Harry leaned down and kissed Ruth gently. It was Ruth who pulled away first. "We both thank you, Malcolm, and I'm sure our son thanks you. When he's old enough, Harry and I will tell him our love story, and you will have pride of place in that story."

"Thank you, Ruth," Malcolm said, only a little embarrassed. "It's been my pleasure."

* * *

_Home of Malcolm Wynn-Jones, London -15 weeks later - 30th January:_

Malcolm had just woken and was still in that early morning state of figuring out what day of the week it was, when he heard his phone's message tone. He reached across to his bedside table, and picked up his phone, and opened it. What he saw – a picture message – and the accompanying message, had him breaking into a wide grin.

"Bloody Nora," he said aloud, despite him being alone in his house.

The image was of Harry and Ruth sitting close to one another on a hospital bed, a tiny, dark-haired baby in Harry's arms. The accompanying message read: _James Harry Pearce Morley born this morning at 4.24 am. Ruth and I are ecstatic. Would Uncle Malcolm like to be his Godfather?_

_Fin_


End file.
